


An Uneven Orbit

by kiyala



Series: Deadweight [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fight Sex, M/M, Organized Crime, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire needs a break from the mansion, which works until Enjolras tracks him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Uneven Orbit

Even though the mansion has space for all of them and then some, they all have their individual apartments, scattered around the city. Some use their apartments more than others. Courfeyrac prefers the company of the mansion, Feuilly enjoys the sense of family. More often than not, Grantaire will stay at the mansion too. Like Courfeyrac, he needs the company. He can only go for so long on his own before despair sinks its claws into him, pushing its icy hands into his chest and closing around his heart, tugging him along from one bottle to the next.

Enjolras, Grantaire thinks to himself, is like the sun. Being too far leaves him feeling cold, numb, dark thoughts turning darker. As he is beginning to find out, it's equally difficult when he's too close. Enjolras must notice the way that their fighting has become more frequent now that it ends with swollen lips, necks and shoulders littered with marks, finger-shaped bruises on hips. He _must_ notice, because he begins to initiate them too. His guilt is gone, replaced by something wild and hungry. He'll slam Grantaire against the wall, fingers digging into skin, and growl, _hit me back_ until Grantaire does, until they're tasting blood on each other's lips, bruises blooming alongside hickey and they're on the floor, against the wall, on top of the table in the corner of the room, half fighting, half fucking, and Grantaire feels like he's going to burn up. It feels like Enjolras is going to swallow him whole, like Enjolras is pulling him in, like he _wants this_ and that terrifies Grantaire more than Enjolras' blackest moods.

His apartment is not a step down in the socioeconomic ladder from the mansion so much as a swan dive. Grantaire leaves the comforts bought with money scammed from politicians and businessmen and lands somewhere with paint peeling off the walls, where the floorboards creak, where Grantaire learned not to have valuables because they never stay for long. It's home all the same, a safe haven to recover from Enjolras, to tend to the burns that come from being too close to the sun. He needs the cold and the distance to numb him, to stop himself from _feeling_. If Enjolras is the sun, Grantaire is stuck in an uneven orbit, unable to find the optimal distance, swinging too close and then too far, half charred, half frozen.

He wishes he knew how Combeferre and Courfeyrac do it, how anyone else manages to _survive_ around Enjolras. He doesn't know what to do, not when he and Enjolras no longer stop at grinding against each other and Grantaire ends up with his cock in Enjolras' mouth, or his fingers slick with the small packet of lube Enjolras had taken out of his pocket, thrusting into Enjolras in slow, steady movements that had him red-faced and cursing Grantaire out, unwilling to beg and enjoying it far too much to command Grantaire to speed it up. It's been happening once a week and Grantaire is at least glad that it's preceded by the fighting because he has no idea what he would do with himself if not. Last week, Enjolras fucked him against the wall, biting and sucking a mark onto Grantaire's neck that still hasn't faded, He can shut his eyes and still remember the soft _ah, ah, ah_ of Enjolras approaching orgasm, the way his breath became shaky and his grip on Grantaire tightened.

"Fuck," Grantaire mutters to himself and opens another bottle, bringing it to his lips.

It's been three days since he'd left the mansion. Two days of unread messages and unanswered calls, none of them from Enjolras. Grantaire suspects that he has Combeferre or Courfeyrac to thank for that. Perhaps both.

He doesn't go back for another week and it doesn't seem like they need him anyway. He knows that if they desperately need him, Joly or Bossuet would come and get him. He doesn't know if the others even know where his apartment is, though he doubts that they would have any difficulty finding out.

All things considered, he shouldn't even be surprised when he comes home from the local liquor store to find his door kicked open and Enjolras in his apartment.

"Well," Grantaire says to the barrel of the gun pointed in his direction. "I'd ask if that's a gun in your pocket or if you're just happy to see me but… I guess the gun's not really in your pocket."

Enjolras lowers his gun and flicks the safety back on. "I _am_ happy to see you."

Grantaire groans, dragging his hand across his face. "For fuck's sake, I haven't even started drinking yet."

"I didn't mean to pull my gun on you. This place puts me on guard. I don't know how you can live here."

"Comfortably," Grantaire bites out, pushing past Enjolras and putting his bottles down on the kitchen counter.

"Have you been doing anything but drinking and painting?" Enjolras asks, and Grantaire goes very still.

"How do you know that I have been painting, Enjolras?"

"You were gone for a while," Enjolras replies, frowning. "I checked every room for you. I found—"

"Fucking hell," Grantaire mutters, because he _knows_ what Enjolras found. The universe doesn't seem to be done laughing at him just yet. "You can't—you can't just kick down people's doors and go through their shit and then welcome them home with a gun pointed at their face."

Enjolras' frown deepens. "That's exactly what you do."

"When I'm _working_." Grantaire twists the cap off the first bottle he can reach. "Are we working right now?"

"I don't know," Enjolras admits. "I don't know if I'm a general rounding up an errant soldier or…"

"Or what." Grantaire makes his voice hard because he can't stand to make it hopeful. 

"I don't know," Enjolras says again. He looks at Grantaire, holding his gaze. "All I know is that you haven't been home in far too long."

Grantaire doesn't even try to correct him that home is _here_. He already knows it isn't true. "What do you want, Enjolras?"

"I need you."

Grantaire scoffs and Enjolras takes a step closer to him.

"I do. I need—Grantaire, I don't—I don't—"

"You… don't know how to use your words?" Grantaire suggests, raising an eyebrow.

It's a clear challenge, like half the things Grantaire says to Enjolras these days. Enjolras takes a deep breath and looks him in the eyes.

"I don't now how to release all of this pent-up frustration."

"Really not that hard," Grantaire replies. He makes a loose fist with his right hand and moves it up and down in the air. "You just—"

"That's not—" Enjolras' voice is loud and angry and he cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. He's actively trying to calm himself down and Grantaire can count the times he's seen Enjolras do that on one hand. "That's not what I meant and even if I did, it's not the same."

"What do you want, Enjolras?" Grantaire asks again. "Do you want to fuck?"

"No. _Yes_. I do, but that's not why I'm here." Enjolras looks just as lost as Grantaire feels about this entire thing. It's a fleeting look, but Grantaire catches it and he doesn't know if it should comfort him as much as it does. "I need you and I've been told that you're unlikely to believe it, but I do."

Grantaire doesn't reply, because there is absolutely no point in getting caught up in an argument neither of them will win. Instead, he screws the cap back onto his bottle and sighs. "You must be pretty damn agitated if you went to all the trouble of tracking me down."

"It wasn't difficult."

"Still would have taken you out of your way," Grantaire replies. "You waited for me to get back."

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose. "Bossuet was sold out by one of his contacts. We've spent the past four days systematically killing her and _her_ contacts. Combeferre and Feuilly are doing damage control."

"Why the hell didn't you call me in?" Grantaire asks. "you know I'd destroy anyone who puts Bossuet in danger."

"I couldn't find you," Enjolras replies.

"You _just said_ it wasn't that hard! What, I'm not worth tracking down if you need an efficient killer but then when you want to get your dick wet—"

"You _weren't there_ ," Enjolras shouts. "Do you think I'm stupid, Grantaire? I wanted them butchered and I _knew_ you were the best person for it and I looked for you. I asked Joly to call you. _Combeferre_ called you. And here you are, thinking you have _any right_ to get angry with me?"

"You could have come here and told me sooner."

Enjolras shakes his head. "I had a problem that I needed solving as soon as possible. If you were there, the kills would have been yours. You weren't."

Grantaire rocks back on his heels and sighs heavily. "Who did you send instead?"

"Courfeyrac."

"He's a sniper. You sent in a fucking _sniper_ to do my job. You wanted them to regret it, and then you gave them quick, painless deaths?" Grantaire scowls, running a hand through his hair. "I don't fucking get you."

"Feuilly was busy. Bahorel was in the middle of another assignment. Stop acting like it's _my_ fault you weren't there." Enjolras is getting aggravated now, looming over Grantaire. He gives Grantaire a small push in the middle of the chest. Grantaire retaliates by shoving him hard.

"Don't fucking come here and tell me about how I _failed you_ and push me around," Grantaire snarls, backing Enjolras into the opposite wall. "Don't you dare. Not when I left the mansion because—"

"Because you're scared of me?" Enjolras asks, gripping Grantaire's shoulders so he can't move away. 

"You don't fucking scare me."

"Then tell me why Courfeyrac insists that I'm _careful_ with you. Like you're something I might break."

"He's an idiot sometimes. So are you."

"Not half as much as you," Enjolras replies.

"Fuck you," Grantaire mutters.

Enjolras laughs, like Grantaire has only just caught up, and pulls him into a kiss that's all tongues and teeth. Grantaire moans pressing himself closer to Enjolras. After more than a week, the feeling of Enjolras' warm, solid body against his own is electrifying. Grantaire nudges Enjolras' legs apart with a knee, stepping forward to press their hips together. Enjolras is just as hard as he is and Grantaire hates that with every slight movement they make against each other, with every kiss, he's forgetting why he left the mansion in the first place. He hates this, he hates Enjolras, and doesn't realise he's saying it aloud until Enjolras laughs quietly and nips his lower lip. 

"I hate you too. Take me to bed."

Grantaire takes a step back and puts Enjolras over his shoulder. He walks to the bedroom, holding Enjolras' legs still so he won't kick, and dumps him unceremoniously on the bed.

"I didn't come all the way here just so you could— _ahhh_!" Enjolras arches as Grantaire gets on the bed and mouths at Enjolras' cock through his trousers.

"When's the last time you got off?" Grantaire asks, rubbing his thumb over the outline of Enjolras' erection, heart pounding because he thinks he knows the answer but has no idea what to do with it.

"Ah—I've been busy," Enjolras gasps, which is answer enough. "I want to ride you, Grantaire."

" _Fuck_. Okay." Grantaire licks his lips. "Did you—"

"Did I come prepared? Are you really going to ask me that?" Enjolras reaches into his pocket and pulls out several packets of lube and condoms.

"How many times are we going?" Grantaire asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Better over prepared than underprepared," Enjolras replies. "Now, are you going to finger me or do I need to do that myself?"

Grantaire snorts quietly. "Maybe we should get naked first."

Enjolras gets to his feet, undressing himself quickly. Grantaire does the same and rips a packet of lube open to coat his fingers with it. Enjolras pushes Grantaire up the bed, until he's leaning against the wall, then kneels over him. He lets out a satisfied hum as Grantaire slides his fingers in one at a time, slowly and carefully stretching him open.

Then Enjolras loses his patience and grabs for a condom, rolling it onto Grantaire's cock and covering it with lube before lowering himself onto it. Enjolras is tight around him and Grantaire holds him still for a moment, groaning at the sensation. Enjolras gives himself a moment to adjust and then he begins riding Grantaire in earnest, hard enough that the bed slams into the wall with each thrust, the floorboards creaking. 

"You're going to break my apartment," Grantaire murmurs against Enjolras' neck.

"Maybe then you'll come home," Enjolras replies. "You belong there, with everyone else. With me."

Grantaire needs Enjolras to stop talking, so he thrusts up into him hard enough that his breath hitches. From there, they abandon conversation to hold onto each other gasping into each other's mouths. Enjolras comes first, both his hands curled into Grantaire's hair and tugging. Grantaire strokes him through it and follows soon after. Enjolras seems content to stay right where he is but Grantaire gently pushes him off, pulling away and tying his condom up to throw it out. 

"Come back to the mansion," Enjolras murmurs when Grantaire lies down again, after wiping them both off. 

"It's not like I moved out permanently," Grantaire mutters, looking up at the ceiling. "We all need our space."

"You've never been gone for this long."

"I needed time," Grantaire replies. "I'm allowed that, when you don't need me for work."

"But what about when I need—"

"When you need me to help you get off?" Grantaire asks, looking at Enjolras. 

"You don't have to put it like that."

"That's what it is," Grantaire replies. "It's just sex, Enjolras, and you don't have to pretend it's anything more for my sake."

Enjolras is silent for a long time and Grantaire is left listening to the blood pounding in his ears. Finally, Enjolras takes a breath and speaks. "I want you to fuck me bare next time."

Grantaire turns to him. "What? But—"

"I'm clean. So are you, from the last round of blood work you had. We've sucked the blood off each other's lips, Grantaire, did you really think…?"

"I wasn't thinking very much about anything," Grantaire replies. "You're sure you want this?"

"Certain. I want you to get me utterly filthy."

"I'm good for that, aren't I?" Grantaire murmurs. "You get your hands dirty with my blood all over them. Now you want my come?"

"I want _you_ ," Enjolras replies and Grantaire sighs, getting to his feet and pulling his pants back on. 

"Right, well I'm heading back to the mansion. Guess I'll see you there."

"Grantaire—"

Shaking his head, Grantaire continues to get dressed. Thankfully, Enjolras remains silent the entire way through. Grantaire grabs a bottle off the counter on his way out, but doesn't bother with the rest. He probably won't go back again, now that Enjolras knows where to find him. Grantaire will have to find somewhere else to hide. For now, his room in the mansion will have to do.

It's not as though he's leaving anything valuable behind in the apartment anyway, he muses, and very carefully tries not to think about Enjolras at all.


End file.
